


Karma is a bitch

by seryle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Fluff, M/M, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seryle/pseuds/seryle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s fault. This whole damn thing was Sam’s fault. </p><p>Days after the angels fell, Cas showed up at their doorstep, wet, thirsty and deprived of his tan safety blanket. Underfed, overtired, and on the edge of something that weren’t quite tears, Dean let him in, no questions asked. Literally, they didn’t say a word that whole first night. Dean made him burgers while Sam made him a bed. By the time his plate was empty, Castiel was nearly passed out on the table. </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/>Inspired by some yoga poses I saw online. Hotdamn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karma is a bitch

Sam’s fault. This whole damn thing was Sam’s fault. 

Days after the angels fell, Cas showed up at their doorstep, wet, thirsty and deprived of his tan safety blanket. Underfed, overtired, and on the edge of something that weren’t quite tears, Dean let him in, no questions asked. Literally, they didn’t say a word that whole first night. Dean made him burgers while Sam made him a bed. By the time his plate was empty Castiel was nearly passed out on the table. 

For the first week he fell into that routine, allowing those two great healers – sleep and food – to work their magic. He filled out to a healthy weight on week 3. By week 12, he stood in front of a mirror, poking at the small accruement of pudge as if it had personally offended him. Sam had caught him and laughed. 

“You gotta put some effort into keeping that body in shape, dude,” he mentioned, and suddenly the two of them were jogging partners. 

Dean was not sulking. He just liked cooking was all, and before, when Cas wasn’t such a health nut, Den would constantly be baking, grilling, or frying something new for the guy to try. He had the best reactions to food; you’d think after all the times he’d been proven wrong, Cas would stop questioning Dean’s cooking but nope – he always wanted to wander into the kitchen and point out the science behind bread or the fact that peanut butter in chili did not make any sense – but the minute he shut up long enough to sink in, Dean was rewarded with all sorts of appreciative smiles. 

Now it was all “organic” this and “locally-grown” that and “you should see how much the hormones shrink the bull’s testicals, Dean.” Damn brother had hippie-infected his angel. A piece of him wanted to freak out over that thought, at how possessive he felt towards the guy – but Cas and him were friends first, dammit, and he and Sam didn’t even get along all that well in the beginning. He scowled at the two of them, planning out next week’s workout routine like they belonged to the granola-munching-tree-hugger’s club. Sam discussed the pros of a weight-based workout, but Cas insisted on changing things up and starting a full yoga routine. Dean rolled his eyes and headed to the firing range. Kickback was all he headed to stay in shape. 

He caught glances of the changes at first—the tone in his thighs, the way his shirts loosened around his waist and tightened around his arms – he had long since learned of his own appreciation for male bodies (Dean Winchester, equal opportunity whore) but when he caught Cas coming in from a run, wiping sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt, his hipbones came directly into view, sleek and arched and–

Huh. Maybe he could stand to go for a run every now and then. 

The tipping point came one way fucking early morning, when Dean had forgotten to turn off his damn alarm from the day before. With the clock sufficiently unplugged and thrown across the room, he cocooned himself back in the blankets, but no dice – sleep refused to return. Dean was not catching a break here. Resigned, he sighed, getting up to make the morning slightly more tolerable via the addition of coffee, when the heard it; those strained, breathy little noises coming from Cas’s room. Since Dean is, well, Dean, and his head eternally lived in the gutter, he immediately came to the conclusion that the ex-angel was up to some not-so -angelic extracurriculars. Also, seeing as he was an older brother, his first though was to screw with the guy, waiting for his breathing to regulate before jumping around the corner to congratulate him on de-virginizing his fingers. What he caught Cas in the middle of, however, was far more erotic. 

He was in the midst of his morning yoga routine, shirtless, and in these light little cotton pants that went completely see-through with the morning light shining on them. He was basking in the only sunspot in the bunker, directly beneath a small skylight, sun beaming down to make him look more angelic than he’s seemed in a while. Starting from some weird push-up like stance, hips pushing into the ground, he dropped to his forearms and lifted his body up until his entire weight rested on that small distance from elbow to fingertips. Dean watched as his thighs clenched, his stomach tightened, small beads of sweat rolling off the ripples on his back all from the effort of keeping his body up. Then, as if to further prove gravity as his personal bitch, his legs slowly lifted, bending forward until his toes nearly rested on his forehead. Dean felt his own cock betray him by twitching in interest. 

He adjusted himself and cleared his throat, trying to make his presence known in a semi-not-stalkerish fashion. Cas’s head snapped towards the noise, a smile overtaking his face once he saw Dean. Dean tried not to think too hard about the warm spread in his chest, nor the way he had come to think of that smile as his own. He opened his mouth to speak but his brain had short circuited so he expressed a very eloquent “Um.” Cas cocked his head in confusion, and the fucker kept eye contact the whole time as he lowered himself to the floor. 

“Good morning, Dean. Did you need something?” he asked, lounging on the pink $10 mat Dean bought him from Walmart (girl workouts get girl colors, Sam. Oh how wrong he had been.) 

Dean found himself imagining something else that could involve himself, Cas, and that little yoga mat. 

“Coffee!” he barked out, trying to keep himself from quietly moaning ‘oh Jesus’ at the sight of Cas’s shoulderblades rolling back. “I uh, was just gonna. Um. Coffee,” he said, pointing to the kitchen as if Cas had no idea where coffee came from. Good lord, when did he revert to a sophomore? 

Unphased by the awkwardness of the whole exchange, Cas smiled. 

“Coffee would be lovely, Dean. Thank you,” he said, a subtle request to be left in peace for the remainder of his routine. Already he was shifting weight back to his forearms, prepping to lift his body up wards again. 

“Okay. I’ve just gotta – yeah,” he stammered, taking off before his dick made an entrance into the conversation. 

Yoga my ass. Yoga consisted of very toned or very overweight women bending over at awkward poses and then standing on their toes to breath. That was not yoga. That – that was some kind of sex-god worship routine. 

Dean decided to very healthily ignore everything that just occurred, and instead focus solely on making coffee. Hot, black coffee, which Cas ruined every morning with way too much cream and sugar. He pulled the half and half from the fridge, pouring in a generous amount until it was sweet enough to make himself sick – yep, right about where Cas liked it. He spun around to deliver the beverage, only to find his destination had ninja’d up on him – again. This time karma was a bitch about it, though, hot coffee sloughing off the top of the cup and just barely missing his toes. 

“Watch it – hot stuff,” he said, double entendre completely lost on Cas. Dean made the mistake of looking up from the cups, and suddenly the kitchen was very, very confining, Cas looking directly at him with a small smile of thanks, a layer of sweat coating his chest, his hair curling up at the ends where it had damped from the efforts of the decidedly very not girly work-out. Dean flicked his eyes down to Cas’s lips, and wondered if the whole damn bunker could hear his heart pounding out of his chest right then. He could play it smooth, throw out some line about how Cas never quite got the hang of personal space, try to subtlety figure out if truly Cas had any interest in him whatsoever; but then he figured fuck it, subtly was hit or miss on the guy anyway, and some form of insanity gripped him, brought on by sleep deprivation and early-morning blue balls. Tentatively he leaned forward, nothing to cling to but the sharp angle of Castiel’s jaw – letting his lips slot smoothly into that mouth already half open in a soft ‘oh.’ 

He froze, and for a moment Dean thought he had ruined everything, but then his eyes closed and the coffee cup was abandoned on the counter so Castiel could cup his face with both hands, closing the gap between them to quietly sigh into Dean’s mouth, a humming moan of approval reinforcing the thought as Dean wrapped his hands around that compact waist to drag his thumbs over those fucking hipbones. He pressed forward and Castiel pressed back, completely unwilling to give up control of the situation, having successfully pinned Dean against the counter. They didn’t slow down, couldn’t stop, but also didn’t move past where they were, both simultaneously coming to some silent agreement that for the moment, this moment could go on as long as it so chose. Dean’s heart fluttered in his chest, a spread of warm content following every movement of Castiel’s fingertips down his arms, up his shirt, across his stomach. Dean leaned back and just let the world go, all his fears and burdens forgotten for one brief moment as his senses were filled with nothing more than Cas Cas Cas. 

Eventually, when Sam found the two of them artfully exploring each other's necklines, the younger Winchester made some sort of scandalized noise, but Dean didn't even bother to look up. 

This was all his fault anyway.


End file.
